Facebook just told me that three years ago you were tantrum-ing, having an ugly attitude, & using really disrespectful words. I remember that day. We were in idyllic Scotland—cold, dreary, perfect. Daddy was at school, so I fought through warm layers & toddler socks then loaded you & your brother up, determined to press reset on our day. Roscoe fell asleep in the back of the stroller on our walk through Old Town Edinburgh. I decided to let him get a nap out, so I detoured our journey to the park & stopped at Victor Hugo—that charming French delicatessen just on the edge of the Meadows. We sipped our steaming cappuccinos, watched the bundled passers by, & probably chatted about Archie from nursery or super heroes or climbing trees.
I have zero bad memories from that day, although the internet tells me differently. Funny how our brains work like that. Like how stressful events re-program our brain: after a trauma, certain receptors command neurons from our emotional brain to stop activating in order to protect us from uncontrollable fear. Which I’m pretty sure is the process between pregnancies because how else would mamas do labor & delivery all over again?
If only I could see through the difficulties. You know, just fast forward a few months or years & pre-distill it all down in real time to the sweet memories that those challenges actually leave me with. There would be a fraction of the worry, reduced frustration, & a steadily decreasing sense of offense on my part. Then I’d be left with what really matters—the love & the tenderness & the time-hop photos for years to come. Oh, you wearing that beanie was soul crushingly sweet. And I’m just now remembering that it fell into a public toilet later that day. I’m sure I was angry but laughing then, yet I’m only laughing now. Distilled memories—the negative emotion evaporates with time & in the end you’re only left with refined pleasure. Think: a 25 year old Talisker but Baptist. Maybe you’ll know how to read in English by the time you’re old enough for this metaphor to resonate.
While this last year has neither been influenced by major upheavals nor joys, it has been a season of personal spinning out for me. It would almost be easier if I had some event(s) to point at for its cause, yet I don’t. But still, I have either felt intense emotional whirlwinds or I have felt very little at all. I have been both confident in AND unsure about myself, my work, my abilities, my relationships. This has affected my general output in many areas & at times I have had to surrender everything outside of the necessities. It all left me in a weird place cognitively & creatively, so your sixth birthday letter never happened. I have swung between shame & apathy in its wake, but ultimately know that my worth as your mother has never hinged on my penned thoughts addressed publicly to you. So today I am setting my all-or-nothing nature aside & just calling last year’s letter a wash. It is hard for me to admit that I never could produce it, but I just couldn’t pull it off. So here I am again—that reset button in all its glory.
Alas, in the last two years—
You have championed me in my Arabic learning as you have faced your fears of attending French school. Every day that I am tempted to throw in the towel on my sixth language, it has been YOUR bravery that inspires me to press on. Language learning is so special done as a family & I’m proud I get to do it in yours.
You say “meteor” instead of medium, think Ethiopia is called “Zootopia,” play “sharks & widows” in the pool, yell “FIRE & BEHOLD” during nerf gun wars, really want to go to “Peter Potter” school (total Gryffindor), decorated our house for Halloween back in March, & think the worst part of going to school is that is has no parents around to play with.
Together we have experienced another hot season in Chad, felt the mist of Victoria Falls in Zambia, had countless movie nights under our A/C, trick-or-treated with tiny friends in Kenya, learned catechisms & timeless truths around the breakfast table, experienced the mighty winds of the Cape of Good Hope, said & done hurtful things, forgiven & been forgiven, laughed at each other, chased penguins on Boulder Beach, adventured through stacks on stacks of books, floated 10 yards from Southern Right Whales in Cape Town, & most recently have entered the world of French homework (at which I am operating at approximately toddler proficiency. Bonne chance, mon fils!).
But none compare to driving home from church together on Mother’s Day this year when you casually broke the silence with, “Mama—I prayed & asked God to forgive me of my sins last night when I was laying in my bed.” It has been my greatest joy to watch the Lord further soften your already tender heart & to disciple you as you work out your brand new baby salvation. For seven years I have had the privilege of loving you as my son, & now it is my deepest honor to love you as my brother. What grace!
Love you big as the sky,
Mama
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